


Transition Two: The Apartment

by itstonedme



Series: Beguilement Verse [8]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Previously: Orlando is an architect, Elijah is a successful escort in Amsterdam.  After spending a night together, they do not see each other for another year and a half, when they meet unexpectedly at the opening of a gallery owned by Ian, one of Orlando's architectural clients.  Elijah is there on Ian's invitation; Ian is a client of Elijah's and occasionally of Dom's, another escort and Elijah's friend.  Elijah and Orlando renew their interest in each other, this time as lovers, but it is fraught with issues that neither knows how to resolve.  They meet again two weeks later when Orlando invites Elijah to visit him for the weekend in England.   Part 8 in the Beguilement universe.  Cross-posted on LJ <a href="http://itstonedme.livejournal.com/55524.html#cutid1">here</a> with reader comments.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: A work of fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transition Two: The Apartment

He is there when Orlando returns from work, on a day when Orlando would have ripped his Skype from its socket and flung his mobile into the Thames if it meant all the projects that were parked like aircraft on his tarmac -- needing clearance immediately, no, yesterday, no, a week ago -- could have vanished. It had been useless calling the flat to say he'd be late; if Elijah was there, he wasn't picking up; if Elijah wasn't there, then… Elijah wasn't there. They hadn't yet exchanged phone numbers. Only bodily fluids. 

Elijah is sitting at the desktop when Orlando enters the flat, and there's a glass of wine left of the keyboard, half empty. Orlando recognizes the Google mail banner, and Elijah hesitates only for a moment to turn his ear towards the door before completing whatever he is typing, sending it, and logging off the page. He picks up his glass and swivels towards Orlando, the unexpressive look that Orlando regards as Elijah's mask transforming into a warm smile. "Straightening away a few details," he says. "Just so people don't think I've disappeared."

Orlando throws his jacket on the back of the leather couch. His relief at Elijah's presence is inwardly overwhelming, but not something he needs and or wants to show. He glances at the sofa, where there's an open book, by the looks of it half-read, lying face down on the middle cushion. "Dostoevsky, Elijah?" he asks lightly, amused. "Not too heavy a summer read?" 

"Hmm," Elijah says, getting up and walking over. " A for-shit translation, but I've been making my way through Romantic literature lately. Popped out to the bookstore. Hey," he adds softly, sliding into Orlando's space and angling upwards for a kiss.

He tastes of wine and an undercurrent of garlic and softness, and Orlando's arm creeps around his back to pull him closer. "I couldn't stand being away from you today," Orlando whispers when their lips part.

"But you managed," Elijah whispers back, "and I'll bet you made your firm very happy and very rich because of it." He returns for another kiss.

This is not the Elijah who fell asleep in his arms last night, Orlando thinks, the one whose fragility had surfaced from its deep slumber. Today, Elijah is back within his comfort zone, and Orlando has no intention of removing him from it, not tonight. Not tomorrow night either, if he's to be so fortunate. "What am I tasting?" he says instead when they part again.

"Tonight's menu," Elijah smiles. "A little wine, a nice Italian plate or two, a very sexy dessert." When one of Orlando's brows questions, he adds, "I had the time, I had the inclination, and I wanted to stay in tonight. How about you change while I put dinner together." He steps away and sets his wine glass on the kitchen island before picking up a second glass that's been waiting by the wine bottle. "Do you want to take your wine with you?" 

Orlando shakes his head. "Quick shower. I won't be long."

*

When Orlando returns, damp hair combed back and comfortable in black jeans and a shirt, it becomes apparent why Elijah might have not answered the phone earlier on. It appears he visited more than the book store; from the array of food on the counter, he must have pillaged the local Waitrose and the spirits shop over on Fulham Road, and a few specialty shops in between. Next to Orlando's wine glass is a plate of carpaccio dotted with toasted capers and curls of parmesan, a basket (which Orlando doesn't own) of cut baguette, a plate of butter. On the stove, a large pot of water has been set to boil.

"Hungry?" Elijah asks, looking up from the bouquet of herbs he's chopping. 

Orlando is taken by the comfortable domesticity of the moment. Sharing space with another man is not something he has missed nor even thought much about; it is simply now a fact of his life. But being able to walk through the door into Elijah's presence feels old and well-worn, even though it isn't. "You cook," he says stupidly.

“You figured the bedroom was the only room in which I work magic?” Elijah asks with an arched eyebrow and smirk. 

Orlando sips his wine and blushes. "If I recall, you worked a naïve, nervous punter in a bar pretty magically."

"Best trick I ever performed," Elijah retorts, and looks up in feigned wide-eyed horror. "Did I just say 'trick'?"

"Yes, you fucking tart," Orlando grins, and he stands on the stool legs, reaching across the counter to curl his hand around the back of Elijah's neck. "Come here." 

This kiss lingers much longer than the one they shared earlier; Orlando suspects Elijah might just be able to taste what he had for lunch and breakfast before it.

"Never," Elijah breathes across his lips, "kiss a man with a knife in his hands." 

"Can we just skip to dessert?" Orlando breathes back, and then adds, "Jesus, that was lame. I'll bet all the guys tell you that." He catches himself and looks up as if struck. "Fuck," he says, "I didn't mean…"

Elijah pulls back but only a little, only enough so that Orlando will read his face and hear his words. "Orlando," he says. "I've heard it _all_ before. But I've never heard it from your lips, and your lips are only what matter to me. Stop with the self-censorship. This won't work if you don't." 

They stare at each other, Orlando's hand still cradling Elijah's neck, his thumb absently brushing back and forth over the short hair it finds beneath it. The moment stretches, their eyes locked, Elijah letting his words find their home, Orlando weighing them, sorting them. Finally, Orlando sighs, and his eyes trail down to Elijah's mouth. "I feel like I'm thirteen and I've just begun dating."

Elijah settles into the embrace and smiles comfortably. "That's because you have. With me."

Their next kiss is tender, as if some kind of agreement has been reached, and then Elijah straightens up, his knife tip pointing to the plate before sliding back into the herbs. "Now sit and mouth feed me some of that, and tell me about your day."

*

Not only can Elijah cook, but he can cook well. Dinner is a linguine tossed with fresh spinach and herbs, dressed with a cream sauce that includes roasted red pepper, mushrooms and capicolla. A second bottle of wine accompanies it, this time a chilled Soave. They eat across from each other at the island, a light jazz playing in the background.

"I am so full," Orlando whines a little later as he lies on the sofa, Elijah's lap as his pillow.

"And sleepy, I see," Elijah smiles, fingers carding through Orlando's hair. He's parked his wine glass on Orlando's chest, his free hand holding it steady.

"I don't know about dessert," Orlando rues. "Bloody carbs."

"Here, sit up. Maybe I'll get it ready just in case." He helps Orlando, who's now grousing over losing the comfy pillow he's been enjoying, to sit, and then he stands, leaving Orlando to hum drowsily on the empty cushion that's become free. Elijah fills both wine glasses and moves them within easy reach on the glass coffee table. 

He snags the hem of his t-shirt and strips it off. Unbuttoning his jeans, he shucks them fluidly, toeing them under the table. He's not wearing any underwear, and he's got Orlando's full attention now. "Just in case," he teasingly whispers.

Orlando inches back to make room. "I like this dessert," he says. "I might get to work off dinner having it."

"When you were at work, did you wonder if you'd still find me here?" Elijah asks. He stretches and presses into Orlando, snugging one arm around to stroke his back, the other working the collar of Orlando's tee down a few inches so that he can tongue the suddenly alive pulse point in his neck. 

"Every second of the day. It was unbearable."

"Did you hope to find me naked on your couch?" His tongue tracks up to where jaw meets ear and his teeth close lightly on the lobe.

"Couch, counter, carpet… Yeah, I did." Orlando's eyes flutter shut and his hips spasm involuntarily against Elijah's naked length. 

"Tell me what you thought would happen."

"Fuck, Elijah, I…" Orlando is overwhelmed with how the room has changed so suddenly from the comfortable laziness of food smells to the erotic silk of flawless skin and tufted hair and velvet lips that hide dangerously vexing teeth. He quickly reaches behind Elijah and draws his pelvis tight against his own, grinding upwards. Words fail but he figures Elijah's getting the message.

Elijah hooks one leg up over Orlando's hip so that Orlando can grind a little closer. "Can I tell you what _I_ thought, what I _wished_ for?"

Orlando bares more throat as his head rolls back and his eyes within it. "You are such fucking sin."

Elijah mouths back down to the collar of the tee, and down even more, over the stretched cotton, hot breath and tongue seeking nipple beneath and finding it. "It's funny that you should say that. Because all day, I was thinking the same. I thought I would go crazy waiting for you." His fingers begin to pluck at Orlando's t-shirt, bunching it slowly upwards, one hand working the back, the other the front. "So I had to go out to distract myself. But I kept thinking of you, of how when you got home, I wasn't going to let you go anywhere." 

Orlando shivers and jerks at the delicate tracings as Elijah's fingers walk over him.

"I thought, 'If I back him against the wall and jump him the minute he walks in the door, he's going to think I'm fucking _desperate_ or something, that I'm going all Fatal Attraction on him…'"

Orlando laughs breathlessly. "I didn't once think there was a rabbit in that stove pot when I walked in."

"'…after he's been working all day, away from me, maybe thinking twice about things.'"

"Never, never," Orlando rushes. His tee slides past the nipple that Elijah has mouth-plucked through the cotton, and Elijah latches onto it with lips and tongue and teeth. Orlando toes the arm of the chair and clutches Elijah's pelvis tighter so he can push up into it.

"So I thought I'd feed you, impress you, pour some wine into you. Get you all lazy and…pliable…and…"

"Horny."

"Yes. That too." 

Orlando's chest heaves up into Elijah's mouth. "It's working," he gasps.

"Because all I could think of, all day, was how I wanted you to fucking _take_ me, pin me down, strip away all the control I'm so sick of. That's all I want. I want to feel you slide into me so everything I feel and taste and smell is you, that all I know is you. Let you fill up my senses, like night in a forest." He's smiling now, and Orlando laughs at the melody that's blossomed in both of their minds.

"I would never have taken you for a Denver fan."

"You'd be surprised at the music I listen to." Elijah leans in and kisses his sterum. "But I'm serious, Orlando. That's what you do for me. You free me from that other life."

They both grow still, two hearts racing, and Orlando looks down into the liquid eyes turned towards him. 

_There it is,_ Orlando thinks. _There it fucking is._

He takes Elijah's face in his large hands and dips down, kissing him softly, thoroughly.

"I don't know why I feel so safe with you," Elijah breathes back, "but I want to trust you implicitly, and there's nothing you have done to make me think that I can't, no matter what shit I throw at you."

Orlando pulls back and smiles sadly. "There are limits."

"I know," Elijah whispers. "I know there are, and I'm working on that, okay?"

Orlando kisses him again. He has to believe that, and he does. "Okay." 

His lips travel across the fine skin of Elijah's cheekbone, lashes fluttering against his nostrils, into the hairline at the temple, down the sideburn, down the jaw. If Elijah is willing to trust him with his future, he can only return that trust in kind. So he says, "Tell me more about your naughty thoughts today."

Elijah laughs as the moment passes and the element of tension melts away. "I imagined it just like this, me naked, you dressed. Nice symbolism, don't you think?"

Orlando pushes up so that Elijah can slide under him. He sinks down onto his forearms and lowers his hips between Elijah's spread legs. "I think if I were naked as well, it would be much better symbolism." 

"No," Elijah pants, back arching, the friction of denim against his erection momentarily blinding. "Oh fuck." He presses up into it hesitantly because there are areas around the head where it's too much. "This is my fantasy, remember? Oh Christ, that feels good."

Orlando rolls his hips teasingly. "Then what?"

"Then you take your cock out, and your balls too because that look turns me on." 

Orlando can see that Elijah's thrumming just thinking about it. He likes that he's the one who can do this to him. He likes it a lot. He pushes up and sits back on his heels and unzips. Elijah pulls his feet up and strokes the soles along Orlando's thighs, his knees falling open, exposing everything.

"Tart of my heart," Orlando smirks, "you _know_ I love that look." He frees himself; he's already hard and the cool air feels good. Taking himself in hand, he strokes up.

"Yeah, that's it," Elijah says, glancing down. He blindly reaches over to a wine glass and dips his fingers into it, sloshing Soave onto the table. He brings them back to his mouth and sucks thirstily. "Roll your balls a little too. Give me a show."

Orlando cups himself with his other hand. His balls are already heavy and full, and he groans as they tumble against his flexing palm and fingers. His eyes fall shut. "Do we need lube, Lij? Because I don't think I'll be able to move off this couch if this keeps up."

"Not yet, not yet," Elijah says. "Now, this is my fantasy, right?"

"Oh yeah."

"You'd do what I asked, right?"

Orlando cracks one eye open and looks at him, amused. "As long as you don't ask me to suck my own prick. Because I've got a bad back."

Elijah giggles and pokes Orlando's tummy with a toe, and Orlando's heart rolls over because he doesn't think that he's ever heard that sound from Elijah before, and it makes something inside him cry for joy just a little.

"I want you to take your cock in one hand and my wine glass in the other, and I want you to dip as far into it as you can and then put it in my mouth."

Orlando's cock immediately jumps, and he needs to stop stroking and squeeze it to stem the stab of desire that spikes through him. He looks at Elijah, swallowing. "Does it matter," he whispers, "that it's a Soave?"

"Nah," Elijah smiles. "Just as long as it's your cock." 

Orlando shuffles sideways, resting one foot on the floor. He'd rather not drip on his leather sofa. In fact, he thinks that if he and Elijah are going to be spending any more time on this sofa, he'll need to get a throw. Picking up Elijah's wine glass, he takes a drink and casts one eye Elijah's way. "Have to lower the level a bit," he explains.

Elijah snorts. "You're not that fucking big."

"Oh!" Orlando cries dramatically. "And I had thought my cup runneth over, figuratively, literally, whatever." He angles forward, taking his cock and pressing it downwards into the bowl of the glass, breath catching at the chill. "If I wilt, it will be your fault."

"Get up here," Elijah slurs, eyes riveted on Orlando's cock, hands reaching out to help steer him. Orlando fits his knees snug to Elijah's waist. Several drops fall onto Elijah's chest, but he's already running his hands up Orlando's thighs, thumbs cradling his hip bones, guiding him as his mouth reaches up to catch the bobbing cock. 

"Oh sweet Jesus," Orlando gasps as Elijah sucks just the head between his lips and then slowly pulls him down, arching his neck and angling his head back so that Orlando can slip further and further in, over the roof of his mouth, into his throat, Elijah taking him slowly but taking him deep, breath held. Orlando fears he might sink and suffocate Elijah, so deep does he feel buried. He holds himself rigidly against the arm of the sofa, elbows locked. But Elijah keeps guiding him until he's completely consumed. And then Elijah flexes this throat. Repeatedly.

Orlando starts uttering vulgar nonsense, it feels so amazingly good.

Elijah backs him out, right to the head, drawing a deep breath through his nostrils, tongue fluttering over the frenulum, venturing into the slit. Finally he pulls off.

"Delicate on the tongue, terrific finish," he murmurs, grabbing air, dipping so that he can lick up the length of Orlando. "Wet it again."

Orlando pushes up shakily. "You could have had a career as a sword swallower," he says, voice cracking.

"Here." Elijah hands him the wine glass. "Dip your sword in that."

Any thoughts about spots on leather have quickly been set aside, and Orlando wets himself where he kneels while Elijah smoothes his hands up the backs of Orlando's thighs, pulling his cheeks apart, curling his fingers into the crease. Orlando hands the glass back and Elijah sets it on the table.

This time, Elijah wets the fingers of one hand before taking Orlando back into his mouth. As Orlando slips in, he feels Elijah slide a finger along his crease. "Oh, I don't know," he starts to say, but suddenly he's back into the undulating tunnel of Elijah's throat and any reservations he has about anal play are forgotten.

Elijah slips one wet finger deep into his ass, finding his sweet spot on the first curl. Orlando begins cursing, knees shaking at the combination of mouth and digit, and he needs to pull out before he comes. But the vise-like grip of Elijah's other hand wraps around the base of his cock, and he's helplessly held by the pressure of the hand at his asshole. It's exquisitely intense, and he wonders if he would be able to survive having Elijah night after night.

He'd gladly die trying.

Orlando can't help thinking that if there has to be an upside to falling in love with a whore, it's that the sex is freakishly brilliant and surprisingly economical. 

When Elijah finally pulls off, he has the sage courtesy of asking Orlando if he'd like to go again.

"No," Orlando says, shaking his head and laughing breathlessly. He sits up and settles back across Elijah's hips, straddling him and unbuttoning his shirt. "As amazing as that was, you've been too good a boy to go without dessert tonight, and believe me, you just about did." 

He can't help but delight in how contented Elijah looks. Over the weekend, they were able to enjoy no small amount of rollicking, playful sex. But that was before Elijah's decision to stay in London, when he was still "on", still guarded, much as Orlando felt he was himself. Tonight, though, there is something about Elijah that is completely relaxed, much more open. For the first time, Orlando doesn't feel like he's fucking Elijah and half of Europe; within these walls tonight, it's just two guys, alone and completely digging each other, happy to play house, happy to forget the world. Already, he is beginning to anticipate where this all might be heading, and getting to know Elijah holds the promise of being something surprisingly tender and sweet and fun. 

"The lube's in my jeans' pocket," Elijah says, and Orlando smiles and comes back down to earth.

After he rifles through Elijah's clothing and has stripped down, Orlando crawls back onto the couch, and on hands and knees slowly lowers himself within the waiting cradle of Elijah's thighs and arms. They both hum as skin meets skin, and Orlando takes Elijah's face in his hands. "Hey," he murmurs.

"Hey," Elijah replies. They kiss, slowly, tongues sliding along lips and gums and each other, breaking, coming back together, slow, easy. Orlando palms back Elijah's hair, and kisses every inch where scalp meets forehead and temple and ear, down one side, then down the other. He begins his descent, along neck and collarbone, sternum, teasing one nipple before kissing over to the other. Elijah's hands ghost lightly over his shoulders and upper arms while Orlando moves down him, across his stomach to one hip wing, which he kisses, then the other, which also he kisses. He slips an arm beneath Elijah's thigh and lifts it, placing the calf on the back of the couch. Then reaching down to the floor, he snags his shirt and tucks it beneath Elijah's ass. He flips the lube cap and wets his hands thoroughly.

"Yessss," Elijah hisses when Orlando closes his lips over the head of his cock, sucking while he paints Elijah's hole. He pierces him with two fingers, fluttering over his prostate, thumb sliding small circles behind Elijah's balls, and Elijah arches his back, hips kicking only once. Orlando gathers Elijah's balls with his other hand; they're tight and smooth and they slide deliciously beneath the slippery kneading. 

"Oh that's fucking nasty," Elijah groans after a while, eyes closed, head rolling from side to side. He's lifted his other leg to rest upon Orlando's bent back, but it keeps skipping around from endorphins and exertion. One hand comes down to thread through Orlando's hair; the other is flung back over his head. He's caught by the swiftness of his arousal, how his awareness is rapidly zeroing in on the enormity of his pelvis: the steel of his cock, the swelling of his balls, and his ass, a burning, hungry maw that needs filling. "Stop," he suddenly gasps. "Jesus, stop." 

Orlando has barely let Elijah's cock slip from his mouth before Elijah is curling forward to meet him, both hands gripping his head and pulling him into a biting, forceful clash of tongues and teeth. Orlando follows, bracing himself on one arm, lining himself up with the other. There's a panicky desperation to Elijah's actions that only ebbs a little as he's breached. Not until they are sliding chest to chest can Orlando reach behind to take Elijah's hands within his own greasy palms and hold them against the seat cushion above his head.

"Sshhh," he whispers. "You've got me. I'm not going anywhere."

Elijah turns wild eyes towards him, his mouth seeking out to capture Orlando's. 

Orlando licks along Elijah's lips but holds himself back. "I'm not going anywhere," he repeats. "Go easy." 

But Elijah's not interested in easy. He's struggling to push back against Orlando's hands, not in fight or flight, because the way he's grinding his ass onto Orlando's cock belies any notions of resistance. Orlando begins to realize it's all about abandon, that perhaps it's been too long – if ever -- since Elijah has been able to take from a man the things he needs in the act of sex and intimacy. And so Orlando becomes the anchor upon which Elijah's ship swings wildly in the storm, and for a time, he lets Elijah beat himself against his body, both of them silent as they twist and tangle, Orlando holding himself hard against Elijah's feverish assault.

Eventually, they begin to rock slowly, Elijah making little throaty moans with each diminishing thrust as Orlando presses him into the couch. Their fingers twine; then Elijah's neck arches back and he comes in grunts and sighs, his cock untouched except for the wet slide of Orlando's stomach against it. 

By now, it isn't really important to Orlando whether he orgasms or not. He lays there, feeling the tension flow out of Elijah, the muscles letting go, the tiny diminishing beat throughout his entire pelvis. He lays there, surrendering to the profound intimacy that he's been chosen to share. It is unbidden and thus a grateful surprise when his orgasm rises on a crest and breaks in slow, rolling waves, its leisure and silence and suddenness as pleasurable as any he has ever had. When it is over and he has relished all the small after-thumps, he turns his head and lazily licks across Elijah's downy armpit. 

Elijah writhes beneath him. "Sometimes you do things to my body that kind of freak me out," he laughs. 

Orlando raises his head to look at him but drops it back exhaustedly onto Elijah's shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"The night we first met, the one in my flat. Do you remember how enthusiastically you rimmed me?"

Orlando's smiles. Oh yes, he remembers. "Yeah. So. There's nothing freaky about rimming. Especially your pretty arse."

Elijah's fingers tighten around Orlando's. "Yes there is, at least for me when I'm with a client, which you were at the time. You definitely got my attention. Right from the moment we met, you were all over my body in a really intimate way. I'm used to barriers, but there weren't any and there aren't any with you. You stole a little bit of my heart by doing that, you know that." He can feel Orlando's smile stretch against his shoulder.

"So you're telling me the way to your heart is by tonguing your arse?"

"Yeah," Elijah says in humorous defiance. "And maybe via my armpit as well, you goof. You know what I'm saying."

"Yeah," Orlando says sleepily. He does. 

*

In the morning, they key each other's phone numbers into their mobiles, and make plans to eat in again that evening.


End file.
